I’ve been keeping plants in my home for nearly four years now. For me, it’s not a really serious hobby, but a way to keep my space feeling alive and grounded. I love plants for their biology, for the atmosphere they bring to a room, and for the quiet way they respond to their environment. They are alive too, and are a gentle reminder to me that I am sharing my space with quiet little beings.
That being said, I don’t enjoy babying plants. That tension has shaped how I’ve learned to care for them.
Over time, I’ve learned that practical systems consistently outperform optimal ones. I’ve avoided approaches that require constant attention, detailed logs, or high emotional investment. Early on, I stressed over plants that were simply a poor match for my care style. With time, I developed a system that’s been battle-tested: simple rules that survive busy schedules, lapses in memory, ADHD, and imperfect conditions.
What’s actually worked
Plants need water. It’s one of the most important things we provide as caretakers—and also the source of one of the most common failures: root rot. I’ve learned to avoid root rot at all costs and to center my care around that constraint.
My approach is simple: dry → soak → dry.
I check my plants once a week on a set day, using two signals: the moisture level in the soil and the weight of the pot. If a plant is still wet, it waits another week. This alone has prevented more problems than any other habit.
For the first couple years, I tried keeping plants in the same soil indefinitely, inspired by stories of people growing plants in the same pot for decades. In practice, this led to slow decline: leaves dropping, growth stalling, and persistent low-grade stress. Eventually, I accepted that refreshing soil was less cruel than forcing plants to endure permanent stagnation.
Once a year, I replace the soil. I use the same pot, just with a fresh mix. I tend to do this around the new year. I trim obviously dead roots, loosen extreme root balls, and not much else. It usually requires a quick trip to the store to get some general houseplant mix, some succulent potting mix, and perlite if I’m feeling fancy. I avoid constant fertilizing or micromanagement, since I’ve learned that fresh soil does most of the work. Later in the year, around the six month mark, I will chuck in some liquid fertilizer to keep things humming along smoothly for my green guys.
Observing myself over time taught me an important lesson: systems that rely on discipline eventually fail; systems that rely on low effort and repetition stick.
The plants that thrive under this philosophy
Given my care style, my plants have naturally sorted themselves into tiers.
Indestructible Tier
Some plants thrive under my approach: spider plants, pothos, snake plants, ZZ plants, aloe. These are my favorites. They forgive inconsistency, tolerate neglect, and quietly adapt. They don’t demand much, and they reward restraint.
These are often recommended to beginners for good reason. With minimal investment and healthy detachment, they continue to grow and thrive. They feel like partners rather than obligations.
Tolerant Tier
Then there are plants that tolerate me: elephant ear, peperomia, dracaena, Chinese money plant, fiddle leaf fig. They survive, but don’t always look their best. They want a bit more consistency or freshness than I naturally provide. They live at the edge of my care style, and I’ve learned to accept that.
I find some satisfaction in keeping these plants alive imperfectly. They represent both a challenge and an opportunity, if I ever choose to step deeper into the hobby.
No-go Tier
Finally, there are plants that simply don’t work for me. Some require delicate, frequent watering. Others need narrowly tuned conditions or sustained pest management. Many of these are tropical plants.
When pests show up or care becomes too involved, I let those plants go. I try to be honest with myself about my capacity and limits. I have to make a realistic choice for myself, and some plants are just a bad match. I gave them a fair try, learned something, and adjusted my choices accordingly.
An ecological approach
I love nature, but I resist controlling it. I prefer systems that allow living things to self-regulate within reasonable boundaries. Houseplants are already an unnatural compromise: they exist indoors because I put them there. I’ve decided that I don’t enjoy being overly-involved in their care, so I try to provide a stable baseline and let biology do the rest.
In that sense, I approach plant care more like an ecologist than a caregiver. Some plants fail, some thrive. I intervene when things become dire, but otherwise let plants run their own course. It does feel a bit Darwinian, but this is a peripheral hobby of mine, and my level of care has to scale honestly with the energy I have available. I’m quite proud that I’ve managed to keep them alive as long as I have, knowing how hectic life can get.
I don’t measure success by lushness or symmetry, because by those standards, I’d be failing. Instead, I value longevity and coexistence. Seeing my plants endure over years, even if they’ve dropped leaves or grown a little scraggly, brings me real satisfaction. There’s continuity in knowing I’ve lived alongside the same pothos for four years.
If you’re getting into plants, try not to aim for optimal. Plants can be really finicky. You might even pick one up that’s destined for failure because it was already sick or dying when you bought it. You will make mistakes. Aim for sustainable practices, and try to build a routine you’ll actually follow. Choose plants that match your temperament. You will learn this naturally over time as some plants thrive and others don’t. Let go of the rest.
I hope you find the same joy in keeping plants in your home that I have. They clean the air, brighten a space, and remind us all that we’re alive together.